


Rescue & reunion

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: “It would be best,” he says, “to not grow attached.”It’s a warning that comes back to bite him in the ass weeks later.





	Rescue & reunion

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

Prompto gets a certain _look_ about him when they find the egg.   _Wistful_ , almost, and Ignis knows it’ll cause them no end of trouble if it isn’t nipped in the bud immediately.  Even if he, too, wishes to take the egg in both arms and run for the hills with it, or carefully nestle it into one of their packs and strap it to his back and keep it safe from harm.

But Prompto surprises him, doesn’t shake off the arm he settles around his waist nor turn his cheek from the kiss Ignis leaves there, doesn’t protest when he suggests they take the egg back to Wiz for proper care and nurturing.  Neither does Noctis, which only sets his suspicions on high alert, narrowed eyes darting between the pair of them as they all trudge back to the Regalia with hunched shoulders and scattered hopes and, in Gladio’s case, precious cargo held secure in his arms.

They’ll have a chance to raise chocobos one day when they return to Insomnia and rebuild it brick by shattered brick.  He’ll make sure of it.  Gardens set aside for vegetables and herbs and the Sylleblossoms rumoured to have healing properties, greens for chocobos, too.  All that space in the courtyards dominated by fountains and empty benches torn aside and reworked into something of a stabled area, a _sheltered_ area, opening into a field or four.  Maybe forsaking a physical wall in favour of nature at its best, spanning the perimeter of the city and connecting stable to orchard to farmland, the perfect stretch of land for racing and grazing and adventure as the birds please.  Or maybe they’ll simply leave the city as is (as it _was_ ) and take to visiting the outpost every month or so to see how their rescue is doing, spend some time with the bird and spoil it absolutely rotten before they take their leave.  A sedate trek back to Insomnia with four of Wiz’s friendliest charges.

“It would be best,” he says, upon spying Gladio’s large hands locked together to keep the egg tucked close and sheltered from the bumps in the road, “to not grow attached.”  A warning too late, if the soft smile is anything to go by, usually reserved for whichever one of them stumbles out of the tent first in the mornings.

It’s a warning that comes back to bite him in the ass weeks later when the baby black chocobo very nearly unmans him with the careless tread of tiny talons, fluffs out every feather until it looks little more than a black _puffball_ , and proceeds to conk out right in the space between his folded legs.  Without a care in the world, no thought to a please or thank you.   _Don’t grow attached_ , and here he sits with a melting heart and the overwhelming desire to pet.  And so he does, cautious strokes with a single fingertip over the little one’s head, the breadth of his palm shielding it from a camera flash as he spies Noctis circling ‘round with his phone at the ready for the best angle.

“What do you want to call her?” Wiz asks.

“Hope,” Noctis decides.  They don’t ask why.

* * *

Gladio’s a listing weight at his back, laboured breathing fracturing into cut-off noises of pain with every running leap Hope takes to outrun the daemons snapping at their heels.

“You know,” he yells over the thundering pursuit of giants hoping to squash them underfoot and chop them up for a midnight meal, whenever midnight _is_ these days, “when Noctis whispered for her to grow big and strong, I never would have guessed he blessed her with this in mind!”

Gladio doesn’t pick up his pisspoor attempt at conversation, doesn’t even grunt in acknowledgement where his head knocks against Ignis’s shoulder, and the horrific pace of an overworked heart kicks up a notch as he grabs at a hand and squeezes tight.  Frantic, panic, _hold on just a little longer, Gladio._

Prompto, at least, is still with him, placing trust in the feathered friend who has carried him through many a battle before now as he twists in his saddle to fire at any daemon closing in on the chocobos they’re relocating to safety.  Prompto, at least, has enough wits about him to holler back, so blatantly unimpressed with his comment that it’d make Ignis laugh in any other circumstances, on any other day.

“Pretty sure if he knew this was coming up he’d have whipped both your asses for being _fucking morons!”_

* * *

There is no whipping to be had, though he’s certain Noctis never _removed_ that particular item from the Armiger in the first place, but there’s no complaints from any of them.  Not when there is a bed to rest weary bones, blankets pulled from the ether to ward against the breeze’s chill, and four hearts beating strong and sure despite all the odds stacked against them.  He plays his fingers over the fresh scars making a wreckage of Noct’s chest, just to feel the rhythm of the missing link finally reunited with them.  Snickers when Noctis squawks in outrage and twists from the waist down to throw his legs over Gladio’s bulk just to keep his feet away from the teasing pass of Prompto’s hand.  Drops his head back and removes his glasses and _laughs_ so hard he could cry when their precarious arrangement of sprawled limbs is thrown to chaos as Noctis pops upright, offended and concerned in equal measure as he frowns down at them all and points an accusatory finger at Gladio’s stomach, the reminder there of their frantic flight from the chocobo outpost.

“Does someone mind telling me why the _fuck_ there’s a smile on his navel?”  A serious question for certain, one that draws on memories and scars so dark they threaten to suffocate him, the phantom slick of blood on his hands sudden and warm and _awful_  -

“Hope,” Gladio says, easy as breathing, and past gives way to present again as Noct’s eyes light up with his grin.

“She’s _alive?”_

“Oh yeah.  Alive and _kicking_ ,” Prompto replies, and plants his foot squarely on Noct’s chest to shove him back down, following him just to instigate a cuddle pile Ignis all too gladly tucks himself into.

“Just as we are,” he says and finally, _finally_ , he can breathe a sigh of relief.  They’re all here, they’re all alive.   _They made it._


End file.
